Forget You
by Soncnica
Summary: Death hurts if you're scared you'll be alone. But if Sam says you won't be, death is just something you have to live through. Character death, nothing else.


**This is my first FanFic and I have no idea how this things work. **

**But I had to put this somewhere and I guess this is a good place to do it. I don't own anything, and all the mistakes are mine. **

**Enjoy. **

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**Forget…you?**

It was one of those summer nights. Hot and humid. Not a good combination. Well maybe, if you don't mind sweating like a pig and going crazy over mosquitoes and things you don't even know the name of. The sun was just about to fall behind the horizon, just an hour or so and the world will be in darkness again. Its rays were cutting a path among the trees, making it all the way to a small, wooden house. The crickets were having their evening concert, the noises too loud and intoxicating. The smell of cooling grass, the noises of the wind swirling around the trees, the sound of the flies, the sound of your heart. Bringing back memories, flashes of times gone by. Good times, bad times, times you can't folder into anything.

Swatting away a pesky mosquito, "God, I swear they're worse then vampires. " the figure in the chair closest to the house door said.

"Well at least they can't kill you. "

"They bring disease, Sam. "

"Whatever man." Sam said, voice low, not attempting to argue. He just looked at his brother, sitting there, slumped on the hard rocking chair, wrapped in a blanket, old and wrinkled. The years were kind to him, though. He slipped his eyes slowly up and down the figure that is his brother. That brown leather jacket rested on his shoulders. God, he whished he could remember all the times Dean wore that jacket. But he remembers one thing. If the collar was up, Dean was cocky, if it was down, he was scared. It was down now. He smirked at that thought. If anything, that leather jacket was a giveaway of Dean. And the necklace, hanging loosely around his neck. Yeah, the necklace. What were they, 8 and 12? Years ago, memories away.

His look lingered on his brothers hands. The hands that held him when he was a baby, wiped away gallons of tears, that could beat a living crap out of anyone, that could mend a wound with such softens, you didn't even feel it. Strong hands, loving hands, were now gripping a beer bottle and fiddling with the sticker on it. Nervous hands. Sam smirked at that. They weren't nervous, they were old. Arthritis setting in, probably, Sam thought. Of course Dean never went to get it checked out, coz', you know, he is fine.

His eyes finally reached his big brothers face. The wrinkles were obvious there. His freckles stood out even more that usual, he hadn't shaved this morning, Sam thought. Keeping it rough. Huh, a new look for Dean. Not that bad, actually.

And his eyes. They were resting on the far horizon. The green of his eyes mixed perfectly with the red and orange of the fading sun. The whiteness around the green was long ago consumed by grayness. But the light never faded. It was there, that will to live, that joy, that love.

His big brother, sitting next to him on a warm summer night, watching a sunset. His throat constricted and a small tear appeared in the corner of his left eye. He needed contact, he needed to feel the life in his brother. Or just the warmth radiating from him. Just something.

"Sam." now a deep hoarse annoyed, but not angry, voice brought Sam out of his thoughts. That voice. Sam smirked again. That voice, that brought him back from the darkness, that voice that soothed so perfectly and so freaky too many times, that held so much. That spoke obscenities, and jokes and that produced a laughter that tore bridges apart. His name spoken with that voice, made home everywhere, anywhere. In the dirty and rotten motels, in the passenger sit of the Impala, in the middle of a crowded street, in the middle of the worst pain. Just…home. Sam was Dean annoyed, upset, pissed off, angry, Sammy was Dean in need, afraid, terrified, happy, loose. And Sam knows that. And Dean knows that Sam knows that he knows. But that's something never spoken out loud.

"Yeah." he cleared his throat, and hoped it didn't show he was close to tears. He rocked on his rocking chair, slowly. Here and there again. And that was his life, wasn't it? Here and there and nowhere.

"What's with all the smirking? And quit starring at me." Dean didn't look away from the fading sun, just kept looking at it.

"Just watching the door. They need another coat of paint."

"Sure." Not even a flinch, he never took his eyes from the sun.

Sure what? Sure, Sam the door needs to be repainted, or sure Sammy, you were looking at the door. With Dean you never know.

Dean raised his beer bottle to his mouth and took a long, thirst quenching gulp of the cold liquid.

"Jo called today." he raised the bottle again but didn't drink. He just looked at how much beer he still had.

"Oh, yeah? What did she want?" Sam imitated his brother and raised his eyes to the sun. What did Dean see there? He always saw things differently, Sam knew that. And mentioning Jo. Well, that took him by surprise. He hadn't thought about her for ages.

"Ah, she just wanted some info on some thing she's after. I told her and that was it. "

"Oh, oh, O.K. "

Silence.

Silence.

Awkward silence.

But it spoke volumes. It spoke closeness. In it Sam heard Dean's heart, heard him breathing next to him. Slow, deep breaths, savoring the overwhelming smells of a summer's night.

"Hey Sam you remember Ash? I was just thinking about the Roadhouse last night. And Ellen too. And…"

"…yeah, I think about them sometimes. Not so much now, I mean that was so long ago, so much has happened…"

"…and I was thinking about Bobby…"

"…Dean…" softly, ever so softly.

"…we tried to protect them. We gave them a proper burial…" Dean's eyes never left the sunset. Burial. Huh, fireworks more likely.

"…Dean…" but Sam's did leave the sun. They traced a fly that landed on Dean's face, which he successfully swiped away. There were tears pooling in his eyes. Shit. This was getting bad. He remembered times Dean was so close to tears and times when Dean actually cried. And those were the times that broke Sam. Tear his heart to tinny, tinny peaces that took days to pick up and weeks to glue together.

But he never judged Dean. The worst part was that he was glad. He was actually glad that his big bro was crying. Because that meant Dean is feeling, ergo he'll live.

The sun reflected in a single lonely tear that slide down that old, scared face. Dean didn't even try to wipe it away.

I guess if you pretend something's not there, then it isn't. But you can't do that in front of a person that knows you better than he knows himself. There's nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. So Dean just sat there, rocking on his chair, here and there again. And that was his life, wasn't it? Here and there and nowhere.

"…and Dad, he…" Shit, where was all this coming from? And Dean just hoped that Sam didn't see that tear. It was hot and he was sweating, but he knew Sam. Sam saw it for what it was. He always had.

"…is O.K…" Sam could only hope Dean wouldn't go further. Not after so much water has run over the matters.

"…and Mom…"

And there it was. Dean is going that far. He waited for 60 and some years to bring all that up again. To heat up a dish that grew a brand new life on it a long, long time ago.

"It's O.K., Dean." Soothingly, no need to get upset. Not now. Not ever.

"…all of them…"

"Dean, don't do this to yourself, please. Not now." Sam pleaded.

"…dead, Sam. They're all dead."

"Dean." A slight whisper and he turned his eyes back to the fading sun.

And at that moment Dean looked at his brother. His baby brother. He knew he would always treat Sam as a baby and he knew that Sam was far from one, but he will always be one to him. And when he saw the features of a man, no, a baby, sitting there, next to him, a thought flashed across his mind. It was a quick one, like a star falling.

It's quick and if you look really closely you can see it, but if you look away, you might miss it. But Dean caught it with his quick hunter reflexes. What if, when you die, you forget all the people you met in your life, all the people you cared about, all the people you loved? And that was a thought that terrified him. And what terrified him the most, was that he could deal about forgetting Mom, Dad, Bobby, Ellen, Ash, Jo, hell, everyone for that matter. But to forget Sam. Sammy. His baby brother.

That…just…couldn't…be. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't breathe! He rolled his ring around his finger, just to ease his mind.

And he wanted, no, needed this moment to last. He didn't want to be alone. Those years with Sam in college were…hard. That pit in his stomach, the loneliness, it hurt so much. Sure there were hunts to occupy his mind, but the loneliness never faded. Until Sam came back.

They went through their lives so quick, never stopping to breathe, never thinking about resting. Always on the road. Always driving. And on his old age he could feel it. Oh my God did he felt it. His back and ass were hurting him, he was pretty sure he had arthritis and hemorrhoids, hell it sure felt like it. But he was fine, no doctor needed.

Sammy looked so young. Just like he did, when he got him back from Stanford. Was he ever that young? Of course he was. Once upon a time. Miles and miles had passed between then and now. Between young and old. So many people passed their path, some stayed long, some not. Some dead already, some will be soon. He'll never see them again. Ever. At that thought his chest constricted. Just one quick squeeze. You never think about those kinds of things when you're young and crazy. You never stop to think that in so and so years from now, they'll be gone.

But Sam…he was always just there. Just there. Breathing in the bed next to mine, sitting next to me in my baby, fighting next to me, hell, fighting with me, talking to me, listening to me.

He's still wearing that hoodie. That brown hoodie. I thought the moths would eat through it by now. But right now I wanted to touch it. Feel my brothers warmth, just…one…last…time. He couldn't breathe again. It was like there was a rock on his chest, squeezing the air out of him.

Sam's eyes were still focused on the sun. The thin red light illuminating his features, it looked like he was bleeding. And that was something that scared Dean even more. His baby brother bleeding. How many times has that happened? Too many times for his weak heart.

He drank the rest of the beer in one swift gulp and clenched his teeth at the disgusting taste of hot beer in his mouth. God, he needed another one. But that would require a trip into the kitchen, and he just couldn't leave Sam. Sammy. Sam, who was at the moment, with his lips in a thin line, searching the sun for something. Maybe nothing, Dean thought. His face showed no emotions. And Dean caught himself thinking, that he really needs to see Sam smile right now. Just smile. To show those pearly white teeth, to show those deep dimples on his cheeks, where you could drown in. To show something.

"Sam?" he flinched at the sound of his own voice. When did it get so hoarse and…and sad?

Sam slowly tore his gaze from the dying sun and looked Dean straight in the eyes.

Dean couldn't breathe for the third time this evening. Those green eyes bore into his soul, he could actually feel them probing him. And for the first time he really, really looked into them. Sam's eyes were interesting to say the least. Some smiles made them brown like chocolate, then some emotions twirling inside him made them brightly green, sometimes Dean thought he saw some blue in them. Sadness maybe, he never figured that one out. Not enough time, always on the road or maybe because those damn hair kept falling in his eyes. He told him to cut them or he'll get cross-eyed. But the kid just never listened.

"Yeah?" barely a word, more of a breath. But Dean understood.

"Does it hurt? "

"What?" Sam was confused to put it mildly.

Dean was quiet. Where were these things coming from? Crap.

"Dean?"

Oh crap, Sam pulled out the big weapon. His puppy dog eyes.

"This, Sammy?"

Sam was still confused.

"This? This what, Dean?" he raised his hand, trying to put it on Dean's shoulder, but he stopped. He couldn't. He wanted to but he didn't think Dean would want to. So he dropped it back to his lap, where it was resting this whole time.

"Dean? Hey." Patience Sam. Don't push. He tried to search his brothers eyes for something, anything that would indicate what Dean was talking about. He found nothing and he cursed those walls Dean kept putting up and around him.

But then he saw it. He saw it jump out of the green maze that was his brothers eyes.

"Death, Dean?" he had to say it, or else Dean never would have.

There were no words, no sound but the crickets resuming their concert, the wind still making noises, the flies were still annoying and the mosquitoes were still trying to drain Dean of his blood. And there was a nod. A slight one. The sort where you had to have an experienced eye to catch it. An eye of a baby brother.

"Just a little. Just for a second. But it's O.K." Sam told him, trying to sound reassuring. Told him the truth, coz' he knew Dean would want the truth. Needed the truth.

But Dean didn't want the truth. He wanted to hear that it's peaceful, that it's quiet, private. But he knew death. He knew deep down that it was a stupid question to ask, coz' he's dealt with death his whole life. It was what he does…did. It was never private, never quiet, and never peaceful. It was a messy thing and painful and most times blood.

"I always wanted to go down in a blaze of glory, you know?! Guns blazing, killing things, evil things…"

"…you did that your whole life. Now it's your time to rest."

"I don't wanna."

God, he sounded like a four year old, clinging to his mother dress. Dean didn't whine. This was Dean clinging to life and it hurt. And then Dean saw Sammy smile. That's what he's been waiting for. Just one smile. Genuine smile. And Dean knew everything will be fine. Sam didn't even know why he smiled. It was nothing funny about it.

They never broke their gaze, every unspoken word went through that invisible line between them. They both understood.

One very pesky sweat drop tickled the wrinkled skin on Dean's face and as he wanted to wipe it away, he forgot that he still held the empty beer bottle. It dropped on the wooden floor with a noise that scared all the bugs away.

"Crap." He muttered under his breath.

"Dean…"

"Just don't Sam."

Dean bent over and tried to pick it up and that's when he felt it. His breath caught in his lungs, he dropped from the rocking chair on the hard wooden floor, Sam right behind him. Dean's right hand went straight to the middle of his chest, clutching at his shirt, like he was trying to rip his heart out.

"You…said…it…wouldn't…hurt…" through shallow breaths he managed to say that.

Sam kneeled next to his brother, who was lying on his left side, knees drawn up, his hand still clutching his chest, eyes in pain. But he didn't close them. He needed to see the one person in his life that he…needed.

"Hey Dean. It's O.K." a slight whisper. Barely audible.

Dean looked at him, straight in him and demanded help.

But he knew Sam can't give it to him.

"It just hurts so damn much." He managed to say after drawing a mouthful of fresh, humid air. It tickled his lungs and he gave a few good coughs.

"It's O.K. It'll be over soon. It's alright. Shhh." Sam could see Dean fading, he knew it hurt and he just hoped Dean wouldn't vomit. Just please not that.

"Won't…be…alone?" through gasps of much needed air he asked the only thing he desperately wanted to know.

"Dean, you won't be alone. You'll never be alone, alright. Trust me."

"You'll…………there?"

"Yeah, I'll be there, just like this. It's O.K." the sight of his brother dying tore Sam apart. He felt sick, he felt dizzy, and he felt wrong. He risked it. He risked it all and he grabbed Dean's right hand that was clutching his chest, by the wrist and put his right hand on Dean's chest. Trying to ease the pain his brother was in. Trying to rip his heart out just to make it all stop. But he couldn't. He hoped that his touch would have the same affect on Dean as it had on him when Dean held his hand in his time of dying. It worked. Dean relaxed under Sam's touch, so solid and calm. His flying left hand clutched Sam's jeans near the knee, fingers digging into the holes there.

"Forget…you?" Dean barely wheezed out. Dark spots were blurring his vision, it hurt so much. And he could feel Sam's hand on his wrist and another one on his chest. They were warm and gently pushing him on the floor.

"Never. Just relax. It'll be over soon. It's alright. Everything will be alright, Dean. You'll see."

How can Sam sound so…calming? He was whispering words of comfort to his dying brother, and it made Dean forget about the pain, forget everything and everyone and his eyes locked on Sam's teary ones.

"Easy, Dean."

The bottle didn't break and it rolled off the porch to the green grass.

"Huh, the sun went down."

"Yeah, like 3 hours ago."

"Whatever."

"Jerk."

"And you're still a bitch." And a big grin came on his face, the grin Sam missed. But he knew that not long from now a big smile will cover Dean's face.

"My baby!!!" a scream ripped from Dean's throat.

And Sam was right. There it was. The smile. And there she was. The Impala. Waiting, patently for so long. Waiting in the dark of the night.

"For your sake Sammy, I hope you took good care of her."

Sam just rolled his eyes. He's got Dean back, nothing else matters.

They sat inside, home.


End file.
